


Who Are We Gonna Tell?

by jonessjughead



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Internalized Biphobia, M/M, Shenanigans, connor basically leads him through his bi awakening/acceptance, connor is a regular at a gay club, he's still hostile just also like chill, i just wanted to write jared being less hostile, jared just so happens to visit that gay club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 05:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12787860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonessjughead/pseuds/jonessjughead
Summary: Connor loves sneaking a town over to a gay club- to avoid his family and to have a good time with people who don't know him. Jared has the same thought on his bi awakening- find a club a town over, drive there, no chance of anyone recognizing him.Right?





	Who Are We Gonna Tell?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in such a writing slump lately that the second inspiration struck I had to just go for it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Maybe it was the big “UNDER 21” cotton-paper bracelet they adorned Connor with that he’d have to chew off on the trek home. Maybe it was the big double X’s on his hands that wouldn’t come off unless he scrubbed his skin raw. Or maybe it was the thumping bass and the lights shining off of the scuffed dance floor.

Connor loved club vibes. He liked taking the bus a town over in the dead of night- no one to disturb him. Even if he wasn’t old enough to drink, he sat at the bar and ordered one Shirley Temple after another, stirring his straw gently through the liquid sugar and surveying the area around him. After a while, once more people started flooding in, he took up residence at the very edge of the bar. There was no ‘dancing’ for Connor. Dancing with him involved pretending his gangly deer-legs held rhythm and ending up doing that fucking white girl hands-above-the-head thing. Not something the general gay public needed to see. Pool tables were available, and even if he wanted to play the dollar-a-game sport, he wasn’t exactly springing to find a pool buddy.

“Oh my _god_ -” he knew that weaselly little sound anywhere. Connor turned, tongue chasing down his straw in the glass as he took in the sight of one Jared Kleinman looking absolutely dumbstruck. Connor almost didn’t recognize his look- dark wash jeans and a button up that wasn’t covered in ugly patterns?

“You knew I was gay,” was all Connor answered, fishing one of the maraschino cherries from his glass. “You don’t have to run away, you know. This is a safe space, after all.” Jared looked like he might piss himself from the sheer shock.

“How the fuck did you get all the way out _here_?” Connor shrugged, licking grenadine from his fingers.

“Bus,” he answered before he popped the cherry into his mouth. Jared eyed him warily until he finally rolled his eyes and nudged the stool beside him with his boot. “You might as well sit down or something. Who d’you think I’m gonna tell, anyway?” Jared eyed him a moment longer before sitting slowly, and Connor waved down the bartender. “Two Roy Rogers’. One with no cherry and one with extra. Please,” he added, fishing the other cherry from his glass before he allowed the bartender to take it. “Figured you wouldn’t want girly garnishes,” Connor shot Jared’s way with a knowing look, nibbling at the cherry with a grin.

“What’s the smirk for? I hate cherries, anyway.” Connor only grinned wider, cheeking the cherry with a hum.

“You’re in a gay club, you could lighten up even a little.” Jared rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Figure you came here for fun, right? Open up and address that internalized-turned-outwards homophobia? Why else would you go so far out of your way?” He pulled the cherry-filled glass towards himself when the bartender set it down, nudging Jared’s towards him. He took a hesitant sip, shrugged as though he accepted it, and set the glass back down.

“Something like that.” Connor hummed, leaning up and propping his chin on his hand, his other absent-mindedly stirring the straw in his drink.

“So you’ve never been here before? Like, ever? It’s a pretty decent club. Weekends are chill. Sometimes there’s ravers on Saturday nights but weekdays it can go hard as fuck, too.” He nodded towards the dance floor where there was a small gaggle of a crowd. “Sometimes white girls come and pretend they’re having the times of their lives with a token gay friend.” Jared looked towards the floor, then back to Connor.

“You’re really not gonna give me shit.” He said it with such an awestruck finality that Connor felt himself internally cringe.

“No. Unlike you, I don’t get off on repressing my sexuality and making others feel like shit for theirs?” Jared ducked his head, stared into his drink like it might hold the answers. “That’s what I thought.”

“.. Wanna play pool?” Connor made a face. “Bet you a twenty I’ll win.”

“I would love nothing more than to win your money, Kleinman.”

 

Wildly, while Connor fucking sucked on the dancing front, he was a goddamn hustler at pool. Consider it the nights running off to skeevy dive bars to escape the whole ‘broken family screaming at each other’ dynamic. Jared did his best, and was pretty fucking close until Connor pulled a trick jumping the cue ball over the ‘8’ to sink ‘12’.

“You’re a fucking cheater is what you are,” Jared accused on his third Roy Rogers- something about coke mixed with grenadine really fucking fueled the kid. Although he did flush when Connor called them ‘virgin drinks’, asked why the fuck anyone called them that. ‘Untainted by alcohol, unfortunately’, was Connor’s response. Jared shuffled, pool cue clutched close while Connor half climbed on the pool table to get the right angle.

“That’s rich- cough up the cash, Kleinman, I got my eye on the cigarette machine. Top right. Aaand, my money, please,” he said with far too much amusement as the eight ball sank into the pocket.

“Fuck yourself,” Jared hissed, shoving the bill into Connor’s outstretched hand.

“Wanna try to win it back?” Connor asked mockingly, pocketing the money and giving Jared’s hair a ruffle. “C’mon, you could definitely… what?” Jared’s jaw had dropped; catching flies level of dropped. Connor followed the other’s gaze to see two scantily clad men hustle up on top of the bar counter, all spandex and cheesy, flirty grins. “Oh. Yeah, that happens sometimes. Bring in performers, keep things interesting. You wanna go say hi? One in the blue boxer shorts is my favorite.” Jared was either entranced or so horrified he couldn’t answer. Connor shrugged, put his pool cue back, and took a fistful of Jared’s shirt. One step towards the bar and Jared snapped out of his trance.

“No! I’m not- I’m not gonna fucking talk to _strippers_.” Connor raised a brow.

“Dancers. Entertainers. _Workers_. It’s just as respectable a job as any other, you know. They go through way more than pencil-pushers to make their money anyway. I’ll give you back your twenty if you give it to one of them.” Jared’s face paled impossibly in the purple-blue-green-blue light sequences. “You want the full experience, right?” He dragged Jared’s rigid form towards the bar, shoving him down in a seat. Another round of Roy Rogers set in front of them, Connor got comfortable while the stick looked like it was returning to Jared’s ass. “They don’t even talk to you if you don’t want them to,” he coaxed, leaning up onto the bar counter with a coy little smile towards Mister Blue Shorts- Adam, he found out. Connor propped his chin on his hand and waited to be noticed, for Adam to dance his way down the bar to them. He fished in his pocket, passed a twenty to Jared, and snagged a second from his wallet. Jared looked like he’d absolutely die. “Live a little, Jared. Who am I gonna tell, anyway?”

“Nice to see my favorite regular back,” Adam practically purred as he dropped down to his knees in front of the two to talk to Connor.

“Mm, a pleasure as always. Be.. gentle with my friend here. He’s new, first timer.” Jared absolutely didn’t know where to look, chewing his lip as he so obviously tried to avoid acknowledging the mostly naked man in front of him. Adam looked nothing less than amused.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Adam asked.

“Never been here before,” Connor reminded, tucking his money into Adam’s waistband like a common practice. “You wanna… give him the money? Jared? I can if you don’t, I won it fair anyway.” Jared looked between the bill on the counter and Adam’s.. Everything. Connor leaned over, gently taking Jared’s jaw in his hand so he couldn’t jerk back. “Consider it a step past that internalized homophobia.” He said as softly as he could manage and still be heard over the music, lips practically pressed to Jared’s ear. Connor pulled back and watched Jared move for the money with the lightest tremble in his hand. “You don’t have to,” he called over the music. Nevertheless, Jared took the money, face going from a pale white to a beet red as he reached out and clumsily tucked the money against Adam’s hip. Adam, grinning, leaned towards Jared.

“Thanks. Hope I can see you both around here again.”

“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” Jared asked the second Adam had moved on, eyes watching him go. Connor laughed.

“Means he knows he’d make good money if both of us keep coming?” Connor suggested, fishing the maraschino from his drink. “Look at you, breaking down walls.”

“It’s biphobia for me, by the way,” Jared insisted, face twisting in vague disgust. “Could you be, like, _less_ weird about how you eat those?” Connor knit his brows together, thrusting his wet fingers towards Jared.

“Sorry, do _you_ want to lick it off, or..?” Jared huffed and sipped angrily through his straw, which was a funny fucking sight. “Thought so,” Connor answered, shoving his fingers back down in the glass.

“You could finish the drink _first_ you fucking idiot.” Connor looked over, refusing to break eye contact as he fished out the cherry, taking extra care to lick the coke-grenadine mix from his fingers. He caught the trail running down his hand, popped the cherry in his mouth, and sucked the last of the juice from his fingertips. Jared looked on in a mild form of disgust, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Connor answered after he swallowed. “If you were drunk, you’d definitely be on me right now.” Jared did a double take, eyes blown wide.

“I’d _what_ now?”

“You’d be on me like a jackrabbit. You’d see me licking my fingers, see it as some kind of sensual thing because drunk goggles make things a thousand times better, I guess, and you’d want to take me back to your car and do unspeakable things- Jared Kleinman style, so I guess kiss me or something. Or are you a seedy dim-lit club bathroom kind of guy?” Jared flushed, taking such a deep drink from his glass some splashed on his lap. “Lighten up even a little, Jared, jesus. Unless you do wanna make out. It’s on the table, I have nothing to really lose tonight. Kinda why I come here, anyway.” Jared looked so… scandalized.

And yet, despite that rocky patch, Jared found his courage and dragged a protesting Connor to the dance floor.

“I don’t fucking dance, Jared, it’s a moral obligation to the entire world to never dance in a public space.” Jared rolled his eyes.

“What the fuck does it matter?” he shouted over the thumping bass. Connor huffed, tripping after Jared. “I put a twenty in a strippers _underwear_ , Murphy. You can fucking dance like you’re white girl wasted for a three minute song.” Connor scowled, shoving Jared’s hands off of him.

“White girl wasted, huh? _Fine_.” There was literally one whole second that he twerked- one ass pop, and then he straightened back up, making a face. “That’s part one of white girl wasted.” He looped his arms around Jared’s shoulders, hips giving that little sashay that was to be expected from any white girl dancing on _anyone_. He dropped almost to the floor, hands dragging over Jared’s torso. If he made Kleinman uncomfortable enough, they could get _off_ of the fucking dance floor. Connor cringed inwardly at his own fucking dance, while Jared just looked so fucking full of himself.

Jared, who grabbed hold of his collar and yanked him in. Who didn’t expect the yelp when their foreheads crashed together and looked like he was about to duck the fuck out. Connor rubbed his own forehead, started laughing at the mortified look on Jared’s going-to-be-bruised-in-the-morning face, and tipped the glasses-clad idiot’s face up.  
“You could’ve just fucking _asked_ ,” Connor huffed before leaning down to kiss him.

Who were they gonna tell, anyway?”


End file.
